


A Regal Color

by bunburyahoy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Blood, F/M, Genderswap, Menstruation, Oral Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-10
Updated: 2011-12-10
Packaged: 2017-10-27 04:00:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291397
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunburyahoy/pseuds/bunburyahoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Germany starts her period.  France cheers her up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Regal Color

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a kink meme fill for cunnilingus with a menstruating woman.  
> The characters are not mine.

France wakes up from a lucid dream, half-humming “Je ne veux pas travailler” and half stroking himself off. It must have been a weird dream.

He rolls over in the darkness, only then remembering that it’s early November and the weather has just gotten cold, to feel Germany next to him, tightly curled up in a little ball. She is radiating heat so much so that she’s sweating. “Wake up, dear. You’re so hot.” He nudges his left hand into the space between her ribs and thighs to jostle her.

Germany rolls onto her back, not opening her eyes. “What’s wrong? You look pained.”

“Stomach cramps,” she murmurs quietly, bringing one of her knees up to her chest. But it’s then that France smells it, the iron and the heat combining together. His nostrils flare out.

“Perhaps you should use the bathroom,” he sits up, the comforter coming to rest on his bare legs. Germany then looks down and sees the stain on their otherwise white sheets. At the look on her face, France hastily adds: “I will change the bedding. Would you like a massage?” Germany bites her lip, then shyly nods. “Go on,” he waves her out of the bed and watches her hobble to their shared bathroom. France then stands and begins to take off the pillowcases and shams, only to replace them with their second set of white sheets. He sets stain remover on the soiled ones so that Germany will not feel inclined to throw them out later.

Coming back into the bedroom, France finds Germany fully clothed and lying on her side again, knees to her chest. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s too early in the morning to deal with this.”

“Not at all,” France says as he slides into bed next to her. “Would you like me to massage you? The rosemary oils might ease some of the pain. I also brought a towel.” Germany sighs. “I will need you to undress again.” She nods and begins to unbutton her pajamas that she has just put on. France helps her by folding them back up again and spreading the bath towel out where he knows she will be lying. He knows she appreciates it by the little kiss she presses to his shoulder. “Lay back, cher.”

Germany sets her head on her pillow, her short hair spreading out every which way. Her body is stiff, her muscles taut. “Relax,” France finds himself purring slightly. He gathers some massage oil on his palms and fingers and begins rubbing Germany’s feet, regardless of her distaste for France’s acknowledgment of them. The muscles begin to loosen under his grip, so France moves upwards to his lover’s ankles, calves and thighs. Germany instantly tenses up again when France’s hand brushes past her sex. She lifts her head to protest, but France shushes her. His fingers rapidly wind their way up to her hips and gently knead at the flesh there. Germany gives an unladylike grunt of approval; her unease dissipates entirely.

France maneuvers around her swollen abdomen, unwilling to accidentally cause Germany more pain and instead moves onto her torso. He rubs at her ribcage, gently at her breasts that seem firmer than normal but are obviously more sensitive by the way Germany’s breath hitches, and up to her collarbone, making sure that the smell of rosemary permeates their bedroom and that Germany’s shoulders never tense up. “Are you feeling better yet?”

“Mm,” Germany mumbles. France runs his palms down her arms and takes her limp right hand in his, worrying the pads of her fingers between his own. He then places a gentle kiss on her palm. And even though the oil’s fragrance is in his nose, France can still smell the metallic scent of blood lingering about Germany. Her body lies open and reposed before him, and he takes a moment to rub again at her thigh, gently prodding her legs open yet again. “France,” Germany moans in a lazy manner. He knows that she means it to sound menacing. She means to warn him away.

“One last home remedy, my love.” He situates himself between her legs, thumbs on the sensitive insides of her legs.

“Don’t,” she says, lifting her head off of the pillow. “I’m not in the mood.”

“Let me take care of you,” France chides gently. “This will feel good, I promise.” Germany lets her head fall back down. Her hand comes up to massage at her temple.

“Do you understand the concept of taboo?”

“Of course,” he says, bending his head slightly in order to come closer to the junction between her legs. “But what is socially acceptable is not on display in our bedroom. What would everyone think if they knew how much you enjoy being tied up?” Germany blushes. “They don’t need to know about anything we do. And this will help.” France kisses the inside of Germany’s knee.

With another sigh, Germany resigns herself to France’s advances and gives in, helping slightly by repositioning herself to give him better access. France gives a light chuckle. “Do not act as though I am not doing you a favor.”

“We’ll see,” she grumbles before France lowers his face into her sex and she can feel his breath on her hot skin. He spends a few moments just inhaling her, trying to remember how long it had been since he’s last done this, although he’s never done it for Germany, his uptight lover who probably needs it most.

“Did you know that our words for menstruation are almost identical?” Germany doesn’t respond. “Even ancient people understood that there was nothing truly taboo about a woman’s natural, orderly processes.” He presses his nose up against her flesh and inhales yet again. Germany tenses. “Blood is powerful.” France uses his nose to circle around Germany’s clit before giving her entire sex a swipe with his tongue.

He can taste a tiny bit of blood mingling with Germany’s normal flavor, her regular tangy taste, which he has come to relish. He leaves her opening alone in favor of circling and nibbling gently on Germany’s clitoris, sucking harshly sometimes which he knows she enjoys. He glances up at her to see her brows lowered over her eyes and her left hand gripping intensely at the clean sheets. She looks absolutely beautiful.

France enjoys kissing and licking at Germany’s most silky skin, but her menstrual blood is an added bonus. He feels feral, almost, although he also understands that what he is doing is worshipping his goddess, a goddess long ago forgotten in favor of something much more prudish and less matriarchal. Germany herself had not existed in pagan times; she knows only of male worship and the power of a penis. France doesn’t know how to express to her that her body is a force of nature, something to be revered, regardless of how weak and sick it makes her feel sometimes. Her hips and breasts, so round when compared to her otherwise muscled figure, are sources of amazement for France. And the blood seeping out of her womb awakens in him some sort of war-like beast, a man eager for reproduction, something innate and hungry for survival. He can’t put it all into words. It’s similar to what he feels when he visits the cave in La Marche.

France flicks his tongue back and forth, up and down Germany’s slit, smiling to himself when her legs and fingers twitch involuntarily. He explores her with his mouth, his lips all over her, tasting every inch, letting no fluids escape. His teeth gently nibble on her labia, and his fingers dip into her skin, around her thighs, in her opening, up her stomach where he knows she is hurting.

Her pelvis occasionally comes up to meet him, her mouth making pretty little noises, and her hands grip and pull at the comforter, at her breasts, anything she can find. France delights in pleasuring her.

As his fingers delve deeper into her, his tongue occasionally taking their place, Germany’s insides clench around him, signaling her rapidly approaching orgasm. He moves back to tonguing her clit quickly, swipes of the tip against her hardened nub, his two fingers curling upwards against her. “France,” Germany moans, much more high-pitched than normal. Her hands wind in his hair simultaneously and she pulls his face into her, her back arching up off the mattress. She groans and he feels her muscles tighten around his fingers.

France keeps his mouth on Germany’s sex, his lips tenderly working at her until her orgasm subsides completely and she lets go of his hair, fingers still twitching. France feels her fluids all around his face, no different from the usual ones except for the different taste and the slight, pinkish hue. He makes a mental note to be sure to wash his face well, as some will undoubtedly remain in his stubble even after a shower.

Germany lays stretch out and relaxed, legs still spread in her exhaustion, and her face a beautiful, blushing red. There is no better sight than a sated woman—Germany especially. France lovingly wipes at her groin with the towel, then uses it on his own hands and mouth. Tossing it away, he lies back on the bed, arms behind his head.

“Thank you,” comes the whisper. Germany curls herself around France, her legs coming to rest perfectly alongside his. He turns his face to kiss her on the forehead, all whilst wrapping his arm around her shoulder.


End file.
